Wrongfully Shackled

By Bernie Tocholke

What is everyday life in jail like, when justice turns insane? The author spent an entire year of his life "behind bars" and shares his experiences which melt away the fiction from the reality. Is the fictitious reputation correct that claims a jail actually is nothing but an elaborate and lavish gym which is restricted to these criminal members only? How much invasive and humiliating experiences actually are there from either other inmates, guards, or from the system itself? There might be a ton of questions. Experience the answers and truth through the eyes of someone that has been there. The author will not sugarcoat the reality nor does he want this book to be "politically correct". He is NOT striving to win friends with it. He just tells it exactly how he witnessed and experienced it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468546811

Bernie Tocholke

The author grew up on a farm in rural Minnesota. From the hard work, to enduring the winters in a cold and drafty house, or the language barrier of the grade school years, all helped develop the character that was needed to not only challenge but endure the onslaught of the cult in his most recent years. In his book he reveals his upbringing and continues with how he became a victim of the cult, and then eventually how he was destroyed by them. Like so many other victims of this cult, he shares how he also has lost his spouse and children by this deceptive, delusive, and pernicious cult. His life's driving force became the desire to share his experience within the cult, to hopefully protect other families from getting "Torn Asunder".

Book preview

Wrongfully

hackled

by:

Bernie Tocholke

US%26UKLogoB%26Wnew.ai

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2012 Bernie Tocholke. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 2/9/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4685-4678-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-4682-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-4681-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012902287

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

In horror you look at the toilet. The tank and stool is made in one piece, constructed of stainless steel. However, it is dirty and too disgusting to even think about sitting down on it. It is unique though in that the top tank is actually also your drinking fountain! You could face the toilet, straddle it, take a dump, wash your hands, and take a drink of water all at the same time! What resourcefulness! As you peer over your shoulder, you see a female guard walk by. You realize that she could watch you when you take a dump and you fall into dismay! Is this what jail will be like for you, if you were framed to live the next few months in here?

Acknowledgements

It would be nearly impossible to write a book with absolutely no help from anyone. There are so many ways that people help which makes this book even possible. From financial support, to editing, to sewing the doll clothes, to even just encouraging me forward when I wanted to give up, my friends and family made it possible. I want to specifically give my appreciation to Marvin, Adeline, Esther, Curt, Maxine, Doris John, Candy, Tina, and so many other friends and family who I am extremely grateful for. It was my experience in jail, but it was all of them that made the book happen.

Once again my motivation in continuing to write my third book is to possibly see my five youngest children again whom I have not seen for nearly four years and miss greatly. I am extremely grateful in being able to enjoy my two oldest (children) young men! My heart goes out to other parents who have also been wrongfully deprived from seeing their children because their opponent attained the right attorney who knew the judge. Justice in America is often not based on how the law relates to the case, BUT who has a better contact with the judge with friendship or possibly even money.

I dedicate this book again to my children whom I love very much; Randall, David, Rachel, Suzanna, Stephen, Joel, and Bethany.

Preface

I hope to capture the experience of what jail is like to the reader. The experience affects all senses and with a myriad of emotions. If I can make you sweat in fear, create anxiety in you, make you feel helpless, capture the time-standing-still despair, and also make you laugh, then I have made this book a success. In some of the chapters I might write it in the first person perspective of YOU being the one that this is happening to. I want you to experience what I had to live through, though no fault of my own. That too will be explained in this book.

There are several purposes for writing this book. Different people will be attracted to different parts of this book. Someone who has a relative or friend in this jail might want to know what goes on inside this place which I am writing about. The Federal government might be interested in knowing some of the inconsistencies in this place which might be illegal. And maybe there is a person that knows that they must serve some time in KCDC and just wants to know what they should expect. I wish somebody had given me this book to calm the anxiety that I had to face before I went to jail.

Here are legal issues that can be silenced before they become a problem. Did you know that if you took a picture of someone, that you would need their permission to publish it in a book? Did you also know that if you wrote a book about someone, that it has to be true or they could sue you for slander? Regardless if it is true, they still could try to sue you and you will need to prove the truth in the courtrooms. If you have the proof, then you have the law on your side. What is ironic though is that you could take the unauthorized picture of them and start up a website with or without their permission and there is not much they can do about it. Therefore, for legal purposes I will alter names and not have photographs of the people in this book for a double protection, and leave the un-publishable information for the websites. I hope this book will entertain, inform or enlighten the hidden mysteries of jail.

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Chapter 1

Surviving the Shock

As the Judge’s gavel struck the wooden plate, the sound echoed across the court room. It felt as if it jarred every nerve and muscle in my body. Six months in the county jail! was the order. A cold and miserable chill went up and down my spine. My stomach went into a knot that threatened to squeeze and vomit out my last meal. It felt like my blood had drained out of my heart which threatened to leave it unemployed, dismissed, and useless. Without the heart, my legs were at jeopardy too.

While still in initial shock of this mental assault, my ears comprehend the sound of a law officer ordering me to stand up. My legs were shaking as I tried to balance my weight on them.

What do you have in your pockets? the officer asked.

My mind had gone numb and I was struggling hard in remembering what I had put in them. I was unsure so I reached down to give them an honest response of the contents.

Keep your hands on the table! was the quick forceful response. Again the question about the contents of my pockets was asked.

I had no intentions of hurting anyone, but rather was just trying to give an honest reply. Maybe if I touched the outside of my pockets I would be able to remember what I had left in there. Did I have the pen yet in there? Without really understanding what I was doing, I reached to touch my pocket.

KEEP YOUR HANDS ON THE TABLE! was the roar that clapped like thunder in my ears.

It occurred to me then that I was regarded as a high risk criminal and very dangerous. Will they shoot me if I reach for my pocket again? I need to concentrate on what I am doing regardless of all these onslaughts of emotions and thoughts.

Without reaching down this time, I guessed at the contents I must have hidden in my pockets. It is humiliating getting handcuffed within a room full of people! Then without permission the sheriff reached into my pockets to secure the few possessions I brought with me into this courtroom. The freedom which the common people enjoy from minor molestation suddenly is at risk. I could have been violated against if I would have had holes in my pockets. My thoughts troubled me at what might happen to me in just a little while later. How much of the rumors are true which I heard throughout the years about the sexual violations which were done within the jails and prisons of this country? Is this only the beginning of what I fear to be true?

Once my contents were stripped from me, and my hands cuffed behind my back, I was led away. One guard on each side of me grabbed me by the elbow and led me toward the entry door of the courtroom. In that moment I captured an impression of someone within that courtroom which I will never forget. Right there in the viewer’s benches of the court was sitting the pastor’s wife of a certain cult. The look of complete satisfaction of victory was written all over her face, which burned a vision or an image in my brain which I will never forget. I had a desire to spit in her face as I walked by her bench. It might have removed her triumphant look from off of her face.

My focus became blurred as the past years flashed by me as a movie at extreme high speed. This was the woman who I dared to oppose and now must suffer while she gets to revel in this triumph. She was the most heartless woman I ever knew personally. The child abuse that I had witnessed that she inflicted on her children made me cringe. Shortly before this present moment I had found out that she had also beaten my children too. However, because I had taken a stand against their beliefs, teachings, and practices; they conspired to destroy me. On the surface it looked like their plot had come to a successful fruition. Her expression was a smug glee which added to my trauma. The thought crossed me that I must remain strong within, even though they have gained their victory over my physical body.

I must fight back, but how I could do it most effectively only came throughout the months that followed. As I exited the courtroom, I faced the embarrassment of seeing the hallway full of people while I am shackled and led away. I was only too eager to see the doors of the elevator shut behind us. Instantly fear gripped me as the movement of going down in that elevator suddenly replaced the emotion of the hall embarrassment I had just experienced. We were going lower than the first or main entrance floor. When we came to a stop, I wondered if we had finally arrived in hell? The doors opened. I didn’t see any flames or even smell smoke, but yet the haunting feeling of doom was getting stronger. There is a narrow winding tunnel that goes underground below the Judges parking lot on the north side of the courthouse. I realized then that I must be moving north underneath that parking lot which eventually led to the inside of a large garage.

Before getting Wrongfully Shackled, I did not know what the term Sally Port meant. Suddenly it dawned on me that I am within the confines of that specific area. It is basically the secure parking area to transport prisoners. Two large doors face toward both the east and two toward the west, and I see them on my right and left side as I get led across this two lane garage. I watch as each Sheriff disarms and then place their handgun in a lock box before continuing further.

Confused I enter into what I thought would be my home for the next six months. Later I find out that this is only the jail’s admittance area. There are small cells on either side of me. The Sheriff unlocks one door and gestures for me to enter. I step inside and my cuffs get removed. The door slams shut behind me shuddering down within my soul. Doomed! This can’t be true! Is this the worst nightmare or are these things actually happening? Fear is such a small four letter word compared to what I actually was feeling. Confinement is an emotion which has a swarm of emotions all wrapped together to become the worst terror that my life has ever experienced before.

My mind gradually becomes aware of my surroundings. I am in a room that is approximately eight feet wide by about fifteen feet deep going away from the door. Part of the concrete structure of the walls is a continuation of the benches all in one piece, which are on both long walls. Then the feeling of amusement and horror is combined as I notice the toilet! It has the appearance of neglected and very dirty stainless steel. The amusing thing about it is how it is constructed. There is no toilet lid. The back tank is also your drinking fountain. How convenient! A person could sit down on the toilet facing it, and accomplish two tasks at the same time. They could take a dump and a drink of water as a unique multi-tasking ordeal! Two buttons get pushed in for either flushing the toilet or for producing a stream of water out of the fountain. That same fountain is also the faucet to wash your hands if you feel that sanitation is of any importance in this place.

However, there is nothing to dry your hands with, once you feel you have succeeded in sterilizing your hands without any soap. The only option is the half used roll of toilet paper lying on the floor and partially unrolled. I walk over to the toilet that is right there in the open, and look back toward the door. From that position a person can easily look through the shatter proof windows in the door. Male and female guards walked past the door as I evaluate the situation. Taking a dump in this place means that the person is on exhibit while doing their daily duty. Realization hits me that my only option against that intimidating task is to hold my bowels for six months! I wish for that not to be true.

I sit down on the concrete bench to ponder my predicament. While I try to force my mind to go through the motions of thinking, I immediately noticed the unpleasant sensation of the cold temperature coming from the concrete into my back side. Wow, what an option! You need to choose from either standing six months or from giving the hemorrhoids the worst torture they have experienced since they claimed their territory of existence.

Suddenly there is a commotion across the hallway in another cell. I walk to the window to see what is going on. A teenager is yelling at the guards asking them at why he is being detained? He is cussing at every guard that is walking by. I notice how he gets his first warning to remain quiet and to sit down on his bench. Instead of obeying, he displays more pounding on the window followed with verbal profanity and obscene sign language. The guards at first keep walking away from his window avoiding a confrontation. The rebel must have thought that he was pretty tough in his own mind by how he was carrying on with his actions.

I am a poor evaluator of what illegal substance he